


Left to Chance

by RayneSummer



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: 5 Things + 1, Gen, Gunshots, Hurt/Comfort, U2 - Freeform, eventually, hopefully this'll be good when done!, injuries, spoilers for end of u4, tag to, u3, u4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayneSummer/pseuds/RayneSummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, five times Nate didn't think he was going to wake up. And one time he didn't want to fall asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first time Nate got shot he was nineteen. It was the one and only time Sam was there, and the first time Sam completely independently and intentionally killed someone. Only that wasn't a problem.

“Sam, we have to GO!”

“Just a minute, Nathan!”

Nate paced frantically at his brother’s back as Sam tried to crack the safe’s combination. Robbing the house of some ex-gang members seemed like a good idea when he had suggested it – they were running seriously low on cash and needed to get the hell out of this town, the sooner the better – but now Nate was regretting ever listening.

He chanced another glance out the front window of the room and felt a fresh wave of panic at the distant motorbikes down the straight road getting bigger.

“Sam! They’re almost here!” Nate shouted urgently toward the other end of the room where Sam was opening the safe.

Instead of replying, Sam grabbed most of the contents from inside the steel box as Nate watched nervously through the window, watching the bikes (two of them) get closer and closer until he could almost make out features through the dark.

Turning back to yell at his brother again, Nate jumped when Sam grabbed his shoulder mid-turn. “Nathan, Let’s go!”

“Down for that,” Nate agreed breathlessly, mouth dry with unmistakable fear; these two weren’t the sort you usually stole from. But, desperate times.

He tore his eyes from the window as the men drew up outside and hurried after Sam, the older leading their escape way through the small, squat house to the back door surrounded by rubbish.

Sense of urgency rising with the tone of angry voices at the other end of the house, Nate and Sam kicked at the broken tins and rotten food remains until the door could be dragged open unhappily to admit them.

Quickly, Nate ducked through the still-narrow opening into the fresh night air, hearing Sam follow him. He took a breath of crisp winter chill, feeling better just for being out of the stench of hatred that house seemed to emit, mixed with the stink of rotting and something dead.

Sam grabbed his arm, pulling him down the alley. “No time to stop, come on!” He urged.

Nate regained his balance from stumbling as Sam let go, and without a word followed his brother down the small alleyway at full-speed. They just had to get to the bike, get away, hide, and they’d be fine…

Both boys ran literally for their lives away from furious shouting that exploded from the house, ignoring the alley’s smell of piss and alcohol as they skidded around a corner.

“Nathan, still there?!”

Nate heard Sam’s shout but could only shout a wordless reply as he panted, oxygen tearing at his lungs as they fled, faster than ever before.

So he almost missed it when the figure in front came to a sudden stop half way down their second alley.

Noticing Sam’s stationary position a second before colliding with him, Nate drew to an unsteady halt beside his brother, fingers scraping the ground as his knees threaten to buckle under force.

He tried to stop heaving for breath so he could get out the question; “What is it?” Sam didn’t answer. “Sam?”

Fear trickled down Nate’s spine when his brother just slowly nodded forward at what he was staring at. Slowly, he turned to face the yawning length of the alley left, and saw what had brought them to such a stop.

There was another man, assumingly a third member of the house they’d just left, standing barely feet from where they now stood. But what drew Nate’s attention was the gun.

The gun that was pointing exactly at them.

Very slowly, Sam took a tiny step forward. The figure didn’t move. “Listen, this doesn’t need to end in bloodshed,” he said as calmly as possible considering the situation.

“Sam,” Nate whispered, terror prickling at his skin as if it could sense something bad was going to happen. Sam ignored him, again addressing the figure.

“You’re not really going to shoot that,” he said with an air of confidence Nate could tell was fake from a mile away. “It’ll bring too much attention, and too much- “

He was interrupted by a loud bang; the loudest sound Nate had ever heard in his life. And, trembling, he looked down his body to where something had hit it, as a patch of red began to quickly pool just below his left ribs.

Sam yelled something that sounded like “son of a bitch!” and there was a kick, a clatter, a grunt, and somehow the figure was on the floor.

The gun was now in Sam’s hands and he was standing over the guy, pointing it straight at his head, panting heavily.

“Asshole,” he hissed. Nate blinked at the scene that took a second to change and it blurred before him, because suddenly there was pain everywhere as his body finally reacted to the fact that he’d been fucking _shot_.

He coughed twice, automatically bringing his hand to his mouth, and when he took it away, in the beginning dawn light blood glistened on his palm.

Nate didn’t know how he’d stayed standing this long. “Sam,” he choked out in another whisper, and as his brother glanced behind, eyes wide, Nate collapsed to the ground on his side.

Everything was screaming pain and gravel was sharp on his cheek, but somehow he managed to see through darkening sight Sam looking back at the man on the ground with terrified desperation. The gun shook in his hands.

Sights and sounds faded to black and white; there was a buzzing in his ears and the only thing he could taste was blood, thick in his throat, but even so, Nate heard another gunshot.

His hands somehow found the wound through hazes of pain, and disjointedly he saw flashes of blood, covering his chest, his hands, the ground, the knees there…

“Nathan! _Nathan_ , oh god, look at me, come on!”

That voice belonged to the knees, Nate realised, and moreover – both belonged to Sam.

“Nathan!!”

It was so achingly terrified that Nate had to respond, stirring best he could despite the unbelievable pain radiating from the hole in him.

Suddenly he could hear clearly again, and ragged breathing, punctured by sobs and coughs and horrible to hear gasps, filled his ears. It was his.

There were other hands on the wound, and a constant fear-filled muttering; “oh god, oh god, _god_ Nathan I’m so fucking sorry, shit, I can’t- I don’t know- Nathan, I’m sorry… _God…_ there’s so much blood…”

Nate forced his eyes to open but his eyelids barely fluttered, he couldn’t see, and Sam was still trying to staunch the bleeding by the sound of it, and Nate had to see, had to help somehow.

He blinked his eyes open. Though his vision was severely disjointed he could make out Sam indeed kneeling beside him, desperately pressing his stained hands against his chest.

There was blood on Sam’s hands and his hands and covering the ground, _shit,_ and Nate realised in that moment he was going to die.

Still he reached out as much he could, trying to tell Sam he wasn’t gone yet, because he wanted his big brother to look at him in his last moments. “Sam…”

It was barely more than a wheeze between blood tainted gasps, but Sam heard. He always did. And Sam turned his head to look at Nate, barely conscious, and opened his mouth to say something.

“Call Sully?” For some reason that was what came out, and Nate somehow couldn’t help feeling okay about that. Sully ought to know. He was a good man.

Sam got it, of course, and frantically shook his head – not about calling Sully but about the ultimatum. “No, no Nathan, you’re going to be okay, just hold on, just, Nathan please, stay with me.”

Nate would always promise, of course, but this time he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it. His eyelids fluttered as darkness started pulling him under again, for good this time.

“No. No, god, Nathan, open your eyes, look at me. Nathan! Don’t you _dare_ do this, god, don’t you dare. Look at me, c’mon now…”

He could still hear and Sam’s terrified, desperate, voice echoed through him, making Nate ache in a completely different way from the numb pain spreading from the shot.

There was a hand on the side of his face; the metallic scent of blood clinging to it along with stickiness, but that didn’t matter. “Nathan…? Nathan, please. Don’t do this. _Nathan_!”

With the shout, Sam slapped his cheek, and Nate half-opened his eyes in immediate response, his focus on breathing, which seemed to be getting hard.

“S-Sam,” he wheezed, making out his brother’s face inches from his own, an expression of indescribable terror on it. Sam never showed he was scared.

Ever the big brother, Sam tried to smile, and sniffed, sounding suspiciously like a sob, as he gently let his hand just rest on Nate’s face. “Just hold on, Nathan,” he whispered.

It was nice, in a they’d-never-done-this way. Nate had always been a tactile person, it was just who he was. He felt okay that Sam was by him. Could be worse, Nate thought muzzily, everything feeling clouded.

He realised his eyes were closed again, and the hand that he’d sort-of put on Sam’s at his chest loss its movement and fell gently on the blood-soaked ground.

Sam had removed his hand from his face as well, and sounded like he was trying to find something in his pocket.

It was dark and everything was fading. Somehow, Nate could still hear a little, and he let his brother’s voice lull him into letting go. It would be okay. Sam was here.

He would tell Sully. They didn’t like each other that much, but they always bonded over Nate. They’d be okay. Nate knew they would get along for his sake; always had.

“I need an ambulance right now, my little brother’s been shot. Yes, fucking shot in the chest, he’s only nineteen, god, I’m meant to look after him…”

Sam took a sharp breath, but Nate smiled inside. That’s what brothers did, only it doesn’t always work out.

“Shit, Nathan? Nathan?! Shit, I don’t think he’s breathing, shit, _shit_ , goddamn it- Don’t tell me to calm down! Oh god, Nathan, just hold on, please…”

The last thing Nate heard was sirens in the distance. Even so, he knew he wasn’t going to get up from this one.

* * *

He woke.

That in itself was surprising; enough so that Nate had to blink at the ceiling for a minute to come to terms with it.

Huh. Well, they got out of that one, then. Somehow.

Now he became aware of his surroundings, Nate could hear a beeping which was probably a heart monitor, and a quick glance around the room proved it indeed to be a hospital.

Yeah, that’d be how. But… _how_ …?

“Nate?”

_Sully._

In response, he tried to push himself up, but pain sang from his chest and he quickly stopped that, breathing through clenched teeth. “Ow.”

There was a small chuckle from beside him. “Yeah, you said it, kid.” A chair creaked and Sully moved into Nate’s easy view.

He couldn’t help smiling. Damn, he’d missed Sully.

“Don’t you smirk at me mister,” Sully said sternly, though his tiredly relieved expression spoke otherwise. “Gave me a hell of a scare when your brother called.”

Nate blinked. Being shot… dying… _Sam…_

“Wha- Where- Sam?” He tried to half-shout, but aching lungs protested, making his cough hoarsely instead, wincing in pain.

Sully half-rose from his chair in concern, hesitantly reaching towards Nate but not knowing how to help.

Nate just waved him off as he got his breath back, wheezing a little and noticing not only the little annoying tube thing under his nose but also lots of other wires and stuff on him.

Right, yeah. Priorities. Nearly died.

“Damn,” he blurted out, and Sully raised an eyebrow, worry still plain on his face. “I didn’t think I’d be waking up,” Nate admitted out loud.

Sully took a breath thoughtfully, eyeing him until Nate almost felt uncomfortable under the unusually serious scrutiny.

“Well, uh.” He shifted with hesitation, “We weren’t sure either.”

Nate frowned. “Where is Sam?”

Again he hesitated, as if unsure if he was allowed to say. “Praying.”

“Oh.” Nate fell silent, feeling as though something was broken. _Praying._ Something desperate people did, sinners or not.

It was bred from a desperate hopelessness.

Sam had thought he had lost him. God, that was… unfamiliar. Sure, Sam – and him – had been in prison often, and they’d both been hurt before, but getting shot was another level entirely.

His gaze wondered aimlessly back to Sully, who was still watching him closely.

“How old were you?” Nate asked, then clarified, “the first time you were shot.”

Sully seemed to consider this, and sat back down in his vigil chair, eyeing Nate. “I was eighteen. Some boys had found a loaded rifle when we were in the captain’s room. They got me in the side, just above my hip.”

Nate nodded silently. Offering information was optional, they’d made that unspoken decision when they’d met, but Sully had since somewhat mentioned his Navy involvement.

“It wasn’t intentionally, but I wouldn’t call it an accident,” he said, and sighed. “I was off duty for weeks, but went back all the same after.”

Abruptly, Sully moved forward in his chair, meeting Nate’s eyes. “It hurts like nothing else, kid. I was damn scared we’d lose you through that alone.”

He stared at him, memories of screaming pain flitting before his mind.

“Shock is the strongest killer; better than blood loss or the injury itself. The trauma of it can take you like nothing else. And,” he paused, then gently tapped Nate’s forehead with a finger. “It never completely leaves you.”

They were both silent, man watching his boy because something in him had changed; not intentionally, but not completely by accident, either. After all, whose fault could it exactly be that this was the life they had?

Slowly, Nate blew out a breath, pondering on what Sully had described. It was true, and he’d _felt_ it, lying there on the ground dying, the slipping force of blunt shock from the hit.

Even now he could hear the soft, quiet, thump the bullet made as it entered his skin, punching a hole through, majorly damaging everything in its wake.

Sully was right. This was on another level entirely. There was nothing really like being shot, hearing that bang and feeling that pain.

Nate sighed. A lot had happened in his life already, but this was the first time he had truly thought that he would not wake up. He had been ready to say goodbye to Sam, asking him to pass it along to Sully.

But had he been ready to die? No, of course not. He’d just accepted it somehow. The somehow was a response to his brother’s desperate voice.

He lifted his head a bit off the pillow, looking around. “So, is Sam coming back?”

“Nathan.”

Nate managed a smile before Sam was across the room from the doorway and on him, giving him an awkward hug best he could.

Sam drew back quickly, aware of the monitoring machines, and fixed Nate with a glare that reminded him of the nuns in the orphanage.

“Never, _ever_ ,” he emphasised, “do that again.”

Sighing, he just replied, “well, it’s our life, isn’t it? I can’t promise anything.” But the semi-serious words were filtered with a cocky grin that Nate knew would defuse the situation.

Sully muttered something that was probably “boys…” and Sam snorted in an unimpressed way.

“Shut it, little brother. I think you’ll find that I’m going to ‘call the shots’ from now on.” He grinned at his own word play and Nate settled for rolling his eyes.

They all knew that what Nate said was true, though.

And nineteen was entirely too young to decide to never, ever, make a promise to wake up again.

He never wanted to break such a promise to those that wished it to be true. (Both here already and to be found.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got... way out of hand. Way. It turned out to be a quite long piece of detailed, dramatic, and sort of dark, work. Which is fine, and it's definitely good work - and anyway, a good start to this! The other chapters will probably be a bit shorter, mind. Hoping it won't take me too long; I've got it all planned, but still have to write the actual whole chapters. I will do my best. At any rate, it's a pretty good idea like I haven't had in a little while.


	2. Twice Shy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's been in the business a while, met a nice girl, and knows how to dodge bullets. As well as throw himself in the way of them.  
> Set post-Drake's Fortune

Nate pressed his back against the crumbling wall they were using for cover and grinned at Elena’s incredulous look.

“Hey, at least I’m not a boring boyfriend, right?!”

“Well no,” she agreed, pausing to peek over the stones at their gun-wielding enemies, “but this isn’t my idea of a vacation.”

Nate shrugged as he checked his clip; barely ten bullets left. This was going to get dirty. And it wasn’t even like they had been looking for trouble!

“You know, for once, this isn’t actually my fault,” he said reasonably, blindly aiming his pistol over the top and firing off a couple of shots.

Sully, who up till now had been having a loud conversation with their client (who had said there wasn’t any guards at the tower they had just been ambushed at and were currently hiding from), shoved his phone back in his pocket and glanced at the other two.

“Be that as it may,” he began in an exaggerated calm voice, “it wasn’t really necessary to insult the assholes aswell.”

“Hey, you can’t tell me not to insult people who are trying to kill us while _you_ call them names-“

“I can tell you what I want, kid, listen-“

“Shush!” Elena hissed flapping a hand at the two bickering men in an attempt to make them quiet.

Nate glanced at her questioningly as Sully huffed in annoyance of their general situation, and she jerked a thumb at the tower.

“Huh.” He blinked at the silent building and looked back at Sully. “Well, I guess we’re off the hook?”

Sully narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the sudden lack of people shooting them; in his experience, an abrupt retreat was never good news. It usually meant that the return would present an even bigger problem.

He turned his attention back to the other two who were watching him expectantly. “I don’t like it, but we’d better make a move while we can.” He shifted to a crouched position and nodded towards a nearby large part of wall that had once served as part of the outer perimeter. “Over there. Act alive!”

“Gotcha.” Nate scrambled over to the edge of their crumbling cover and beckoned Elena to follow him, which she did after a nervous look back.

“Over there?” She repeated quietly, pointing at their destination.

Nate nodded. “Yep. Go for it; I’m right behind you, and Sully’s behind me,” he replied in what could generously be described as a whisper.

“Right.” Elena eyed the tall structure unenthusiastically but sucked in a breath, preparing herself to run out into what could possibly be a line of fire.

No one had exactly told her that dating a treasure hunter meant she’d end up bolting from cover to unstable cover with him and his older friend at an ancient ruin – after all, they were _meant_ to ‘just be looking’.

But, well, it’s not like she didn’t like excitement. _Yep_ , Elena thought to herself as she sprinted for the stone wall and almost smacked into it; this definitely wasn’t boring.

Panting a bit for breath, she settled into a good defensive position before glancing for the boys. For an alarming second she could only see Sullivan running, but then Nate rounded the wall and hurried to crouch next to her, turning to watch his friend catch up.

Elena shifted so they could settle, and Nate turned to Sully with a triumphant grin. “That wasn’t too bad, right? Maybe they _have_ given up.”

Sully just grunted in reply, still scanning the area closely for any threats. Seeing nothing – maybe the guards hadn’t seen the movement, and they were close enough to the forest to sneak away now – he slowly straightened up, still using the stone as shielding.

“I mean, it’s not like they were hired to actually kill us; they’re just guards doing their job,” Nate continued, following his mentor’s movements in letting some tension melt away. After a moment, Elena hesitantly copied them.

“They might still be looking,” Sully warned in reply, and took a couple of steps towards the forest edge, looking out.

Nate joined him. “It’s not far,” he pointed somewhat towards where their rented jeep was hidden, “we could probably leg it to the trees, then-“

“Look out!”

Both men whipped around, guns at the ready, at Elena’s whispered shout; seeing nothing immediate, Nate glanced at her and mouthed ‘what?’

She shook her head, shoulders slumped. “I, uh, thought I saw something,” she said lamely, feeling stupid. Nate and Sully exchanged a look, confirmed neither had found anything, and relaxed their fighting posture without putting guns away.

“Well, thanks for keeping an eye,” Nate told her, giving her shoulder a pat with a smile.

“Mm,” she hummed absently, glancing away from her boyfriend’s face before she got distracted (wouldn’t be the first time).

They continued to mutter vague plans to drive away and leave the country Very Quickly and Elena frowned up at the short guard-tower she had fancied she’d seen a gleam in.

It was a strong stone structure, big enough to easily hold a man and his long-gun at the top little room, where they could point their musket out the window and towards enemy invaders.

Giving her head a little shake, Elena reminded herself this wasn’t a history lesson and took her eyes off it, glancing absently away just as Nate looked back to check on her.

He was immediately met with the sight of a red laser dot on her forehead.

“Elena, get down!” He yelled, practically launching himself at her regardless. Her gaze snapped to him and eyes widened in shock as he shoved her away from the target.

She stumbled and tripped over her own feet, seeing Sully back up while raising his gun in warning; hitting the ground as Nate hit the wall with a red dot on the back of his shoulder, and a crack shot broke through the air.

The sniper’s bullet ripped through his lower shoulder and straight out of his chest, not even stopping as it punched a hole in the stone wall as well. The seemingly steady wall began to crumble dangerously as Nate fell to his knees at the base of it.

He could hear Elena yelling frantically and Sully shouting something possibly back to her, but pain was flooding his mind as angry heat radiated from the wound and blood soaked the front and back of his shirt.

Just before eager blackness consumed his vision, Nate raised his head shakily and saw as if in slow motion, the stones that made up the tall wall beginning to rain down on him.

The last thing he registered was hitting the ground as stones crashed down on him.

There wasn’t a way out of this.

* * *

“You know, this is getting slightly less surprising,” Nate remarked, looking thoughtfully at Sully from his sitting position in the hospital bed.

Sully raised an eyebrow but it was Elena, who just walked in with coffee, who answered; “What is?”

She seemed rather collected considering she’s seen everything.

Everything being not only the fact of Nate being shot through the chest with a sniper and then getting half-buried in rubble of a collapsing wall, but also being present as she and Sully had frantically dragged him out and half-dragged half-carried his injured and unconscious ass through the cover of the forest to their jeep.

Not to mention she’d then been the once to high-tail it to the closest hospital, something Sully had informed him of (in midst of almost unspeakable relief) when Nate had first woken.

Which was what he was now referring to.

“The idea of thinking I’m not going to get up,” he explained, apparently insufficiently given her frown as she passed the second coffee to Sully.

Elena sat herself daintily on the end edge of his bed. “What does that mean?”

Nate shrugged; “Not really sure myself.” He paused, reconsidering, and added a bit more hesitantly, “I remember – this time definitely – thinking, just before I blacked out, that I wouldn’t wake up again.”

He looked expectantly at the other two as Elena took a thoughtful sip of coffee and Sully studied him with unusual scrutiny.

“This time, huh,” he mused, and Nate shrugged again in reply, a little uncomfortable now. After all, Sully had been here before just as Nate had.

“Well,” Elena put in confidently, with a knowing look at the both of them, “good thing I was around to help save your ass.”

A grin spread across his face. “No kidding,” Nate chuckled along with Sully’s hum of agreement.

“You’re okay, kid.” Sully reached out to pat his arm briefly, answering smile a little tight.

Nate nodded slowly, glancing at the plain little window that showed the outside of the hospital. A bird flew past on its wings, as light as its feathers.

Yeah, he’d be fine. This time.

But how many close calls was his surprising luck exactly going to hold was a warning question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short personal note: Sorry this has been a while coming, although I don't have to be because I'm under no obligation. I lost someone very important to me last weekend and had a slow week struggling through it. Writing is something I do primarily for myself, so I am fine getting back to it, I just needed a little time.   
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter; it's a bit shorter than the other but a good length, and about the same as the others will be. Talking of, they are all ready to write, with summaries of what they are, I just need to get to it. Will hopefully get them done and published steadily and complete this. I am enjoying it too - please leave a review if you have time. Thank you :)


	3. Tibetan Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time, Nate knew there was no help, no friends, to save him in any way. Crawling through deep snow with a bullet in his gut and a burning hole in his side surely spelt his end.  
> How he woke this time was down to pure kind hearts, and a little bit of Tibetan magic.

From the second the bullet entered his body he had thought he was done for.

It was pain and blood and Chloe's horrified expression; it was running and staggering and crawling behind a seat for some sort of cover. And then it was one shot and a blast of heat and blackening pain.

Now it was coming to filled with a pain-addled mind, exhaustion claiming any thought not consumed by the fire in his stomach. Shit, the bullet was still in him and he had no way of getting it out or patching himself up. There was no way to get urgent medical attention out here.

Then he had almost got slammed in the face _by_ a trauma kit; talk about goddamn _irony_.

Although it had been enough to snap him out of the haze of lingering unconsciousness, just so he could find himself in the worse possible situation. The train had merrily thrown him out, and it was only by sheer luck he'd managed to cling onto the rails.

Climbing hurt. It hurt very, very badly, tearing at the hole in his stomach until he was sick with numbness that filled it.

But with one final leap, incredibly Nate managed to grab onto the side of the snow-covered cliff and pull himself up somehow, sharp fire from the wound filling every edge of his mind and body, consuming him.

He lay there for a moment, spread on the snow that turned a mushy red at the contact. Somewhere between consciousness and death, Nate focused on breathing, though even that hurt like hell.

Breathe. Breath in - he let his lungs fill with cold air that felt like thousands of tiny knives stabbing in his chest. The chill spread through him, from his sweat-soaked clothes, the snow-covered ground, his sticky stained shirt.

Everything was so cold and numb.

Nate forced himself to get up, get moving, get... somewhere. Anywhere. Captured by Lazaravic would probably be better than here.

Okay, probably not. But at least he'd hopefully get to die quicker. Here, he was going to bleed out slowly, frozen in the blizzard that swirled around him as he stumbled away from the cliff edge.

The first lot of wreckage immediately collapsed on him, and he only just managed to roll out of the way in time to avoid being crushed, bullet wound screaming in protest at the movements. Even walking sent terrible bolts of pain through him that routinely almost took him down.

Just keep going.

That was always his way, to just keep moving, to find something. Something was always better than nothing; that's what Sully used to say.

Shit, he was going to die out here. Sully wouldn't find out for a while, he wouldn't start worrying for a few months, then he'd have to track down someone who knew what had happened, and he'd blame himself for bailing.

Someone? What was he thinking? Not just anyone - Sully would obviously go after Chloe, as the last person who was with him.

God, _Chloe_.

Nate's increasingly despairing thoughts were interrupted by an inconvenient locked door.

"Of course it's locked, it's always locked," he muttered to himself even as a glint of silver to the left introduced itself as a regular handgun and Nate scooped it up, almost whining in pain as leaning down lit the stomach wound on fire again.

A quick shot and the padlock was history, leaving him free to shove at the door, stumble out back into the snow in darkening pain, and hear a shout from his right.

He turned his head sharply and saw a soldier aiming his gun, going to pull the trigger as Nate barely managed to take a step towards some crates for cover. A sense of hopeless wiped over him for a second before he realised that it was a real feeling, and it was actually heat.

The wavering fire of a nearby train car reached out and lit a propane tank by the soldier; the man's scream was cut off as he was thrown into metal, breaking his neck.

Well. "Karma's a bitch," Nate gasped out, almost pitching forward as he tried to grab the guy's dropped handgun. More ammo was never a bad idea.

The rest of the dangerous maze-like way through train wreckage proved similarly difficult, with various fires and cliffs and precariously placed paths. At one point another train car came abruptly rolling down the hall and crashed aggressively its the one Nate was standing on.

At that point, he was pretty sure he was dead as well. Again. But the carriage stops before the cliff, though the roll left him unconscious and bleeding on the floor, one arm hanging down almost to the snow, frostbite crawling into his fingers.

But somehow - and god knew Nate had no idea - he came round again, aching body on the inside roof of the flipped carriage.

He pushed himself up with incoherent groans of pain and weariness, regarding the blood stain now decorating the white metal. With the wound bleeding again, and the bullet still lodged somewhere in there, Nate had no choice but to hope for a miracle.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the kind of miracle-believing guy.

Still he pushed on though, falling through a weak metal sheet to land painfully on his stomach in the powdered snow, the chill no longer affecting the burning wound.

Nate staggered up a small snowdrift hill, one arm over his stomach though he'd long since given up actually trying to put pressure on the hole. Now he just loosely held it there, even from centremetres away feeling the ferocious burning of the injury.

It was going to kill him, Nate could tell that much.

Even as the blizzard thickened around him, he could make out something in the snow right ahead. He took another shaking step. A knife? A piece of metal, broken off from the train?

Two more heavy steps brought him to it and he stumbled to his knees, recognising the object: the Purbha Dagger.

One arm still hovering on his stomach, he dully lifted his head a little and blinked through the whiteness, unable to see a thing now. Somehow, he managed to half-fall forward to drag himself to sitting up against a huge piece of metal train carriage, the Purbha tight in his grasp.

For a moment - hell, he was going to die anyway - Nate gazed at the intricate patterns on the handle, letting it rest on his blood-coated hands.

His moment with the Purbha was interrupted by the loud sound of cars against the howling of the wind. Nate stiffened, shoving the Phurba automatically in his belt as he reached for his gun, cocking it with a grimace.

"Ah, shit," he grumbled, raising his gun and turning to look out around cover despite that he was in absolutely no condition to fight.

And at first, he didn't have to.

Nate took care of the first few soldiers stealthily, breaking their necks from behind. His whole body still ached and every movement sent spikes of pain through the bullet wound; by now he could almost feel the bullet shifting in his gut, tearing into organs, ripping him apart from the inside out.

But despite all that, and the relentless cold so bad he could barely feel his hands, and his feet had long since been numbed from soaked shoes; despite everything, in the presence of enemies to take down, a certain amount of adrenalin was pulsing through him.

It did nothing for aching bones and frozen limbs, but it did give Nate just enough edge to take on the goons.

Until they eventually realised something was up, and just as he was approaching the penultimate guy, the last one spotted him and shouted a warning.

Immediately, Nate dived for cover, landing hard on the painfully cold ground but hearing the satisfying thunk of bullets rebounding from the plastic crates instead of embedding themselves in him.

One had already done quite enough damage.

The rest of the fight took a surprisingly short time, considering it involved two more waves of goons with guns and a third group of three armoured guys with shotguns. Stumbling, slipping, and just plain tripping as he staggered quickly through the snow, firing as he went, Nate finished up with a handy grenade launcher that was strewn on top of one of the train carriages.

He let the big gun dangle from his hand as he surveyed the scene from the vantage point. Nothing moved apart from the swirling snow.

Nate let the gun drop gently onto the metal roof and unhappily eyed the ladder back down. He'd scrambled up using crates, but that was around the other side, and now all threats were gone adrenalin was considerably dropping.

Meaning the aching and the harsh pains were coming back, fresh agony slamming into him like a train car.

Although that might've had something to do with slipping not-so carefully off the roof and landing sprawled in the snow, groaning in pain before he could gather himself and stagger back to his feet.

Right. There had to be a way out of here.

There was, of course, and typically it was the way the soldiers had entered; next to an oil tank on fire which frankly was providing light and heat, two things that was in short use here.

So Nate stumbled his way through the deep snow, freshly aching and cradling the more-than-numb hole, an arm over his stomach as if that would help at this point. It was red and black and tinged with white - blood, death, and the cold eager to take him.

At the snow-carpeted rocks that offered a way out, Nate raised his head slightly, blinking in wavering vision.

"I'm either gonna bleed out or I'm gonna climb out," he murmured, feeling warmth still on his palm. The blood that originally soaked his hand in that shocked second he'd stared at it had been covered and frozen what felt like hours ago. More coated his jeans, and arms, and shirt, still slowly seeping into the material.

Yeah, he was done for. There was no way of surviving much more blood loss, not with the injury itself so severe.

Everything messed with his vision and mind, but somehow he managed to climb to the plain, dragging himself up in the snow with uncontrollable whines and groaning. It hurt very badly, still.

The snow that covered everything did little to help the burning fire of a serious wound.

"Shit, it's cold," Nate mumbled past blue lips, frozen. He could practically feel icicles forming on his eyebrows and in his hair as he stumbled hopelessly forward.

The snow was deep, no other people having trekked through it now. The blizzard attacked him head-on, howling in his ears, swirling flakes of snow and ice around him, creeping under his clothes and chilling the skin until it felt like wax.

Still he walked on.

Where, who knew. Certainly not Nate; the only thing to be seen through whiteness was peaks of grey mountain, looming in a fog.

God, this was it. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't think anything except for _shit_ and related words.

Sentences like _Elena will never really know what happened_ flashed through his mind, followed by vague reprimands like _forget that; she'll never know that I loved her, so much. And still do._

Sully wouldn't know either. He'd find out, eventually, and mourn and angrily blame himself, probably. But there was nothing to be done. At least, not now. The man had always been there for him and Nate owed it to think of them in his last moments.

Last moments staggering through the snow, chill sinking into clothes and skin and bone, freezing blood in his veins until he could feel nothing.

Last knowledge of a bullet lodged in him, buried in his gut somewhere, twisting its way into things more complicated than Nate had expertise for. All the times he'd been shot, he'd never _really_ thought a single bullet would do him in.

Then again, he'd never thought a once-friend would be his death.

Never mind. Never... mind...

Nate took a few more halting steps, each one weaker than the last, before falling forward. He began to crawl, unable to think beyond _keep moving_ , leaving a trail of tainted snow in his trail.

His vision flashed in black and white, darkness narrowing the only view of snow around everywhere.

Shoulders slumped into the drift, Nate finally stopped moving. Everything was becoming quiet and calm and the wind seemed to be sighing at him rather than screaming.

With one last ounce of energy, he lifted his head clear of the snow and squinted forward - a figure, shadowed grey, stood just out of range. It was standing straight and proud, as if its purpose was to watch him fade.

It began to move, striding with purpose, as Nate dropped his head onto the snow, unable to hold it up any longer.

His eyes were closed. The last thing he remembered was a slight warmth on his face, snow rebounding an exhale, and he was vaguely surprised he was still breathing.

This time, Nate knew there was nothing. Nothing out here to help or save.

Waking up was more than a blessing, more than his wildest dreams could have realised. Waking to lasting pain, yes, and incredible aches, everywhere; but conscious nonetheless. In some way, not through the power of technology or military, but the pure power of kindness... he'd made it through.

And the hug he got from an appeared Elena was worth every bit of pain from the healing wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took kind of a little while, because I was actually playing Among Thieves sort of as I wrote it, for excellent reference. Also I always get carried away writing anything relating to Nate getting shot in u2. Poor kid. Brilliant stuff to write abt forever. Anyway, hope you enjoy! I had to stop myself writing more bc I would get carried away again, so as usual we will never know what an ending actually is..


	4. Desolate Landscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumped in the desert and waiting to die, alone and scared... the blank sight of sand in every direction was more terrifying than any injury Nate could have been dealt.

The first day was hard enough.

As if beaten half-beaten up by a guy big enough to pass for a tree trunk, shot at more so by now he had more grazes from bullets than healthy skin, and falling out of a plane hundreds of feet above a desert wasn’t enough…

Well, now Nate was _in_ the desert. Rolling off the box – falling was more the word, then rolling to a stop on the sand – and checking the wreckage were sensible and straightforward things.

Finding the only salvageable item littered among half-buried bodies (a battered AK with a half-empty clip) was then as far as ‘sensible’ or ‘straightforward’ went.

And now he was trudging through the desert. Day one. Not that anyone was keeping count.

Not that he would be out here long.

But, oh god, out here… it was hot. Not just a sunny Florida day hot, but beating, merciless, unheeded hot from the sun that burned in the sky like a punishment.

It took two dunes before Nate wanted to stop – and that was a generous, rounded statement. Walking aimlessly up one side, struggling though sand, to just trip down the other side, serving reminders of all the aches and bruises of the last few days.

As the day went on and the sun burned till Nate’s skin felt like bubbling acid, he began to think almost longingly of the constant near-drownings barely 24 hours ago.

Because now, he would give anything for water. Not that he had anything to give. Which was fine, since there was no water to get.

Why he didn’t have anything to give, and various related questions, were crowding his mind, cooking as if on a timer, ready to explode. Why, why, _why_?

His head hurt. Nate had to stop, just for a moment. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward as much as he felt safe to without the imminent possibility of collapsing, staring sightlessly at the sand.

God, he hated the sand.

He had to move, though. Had to keep moving, keep going; it was the only way to get anywhere.

Nate pushed off his knees to straighten up, every muscle throbbing with pain. He staggered forward regardless, passing in the shadow of a large dune for a couple of seconds, savouring the sweet relief of very brief shelter from the burning.

Staggering forward, heading for a miracle, Nate’s steps sent up small puffs of sand, footfalls leaving a heavy mark on the many ridges.

“Okay. Hating the sand,” he panted, swallowing dryly. Even if he couldn’t feel the roughness in his throat, Nate could definitely hear it in his voice.

The sand would probably be getting more hate, Nate thought vaguely, but saying it out loud didn’t do anything for him.

He heard himself take in an audibly raspy breath. “So hot,” he breathed. Absently, he considered his lips were so cracked it was a miracle they could still move.

A few more minutes of walking, he promised himself, _just a few more steps._

Nate blinked, staring forward. It said something about how bad he was already doing that he didn’t question it.

“Oh, thank god, a well.” His voice was still weak, with barely a note of hope in it, and proved to be right in not summoning any with the physical energy he had left.

Because it didn’t take long to quickly inspect the well and find its leather bucket completely dry.

It took a little longer to get moving when Nate stared at the sky in despair.

Of course moments later his legs began struggling to walk on the sand again, turning his back on the empty well, facing nothing again.

The sand clung to his trousers. There was nothing but dunes ahead – as well as behind, to the right, to the left, and any other direction a compass could ever present.

As Nate walked, he managed to utter an empty, “now what?”

-

More walking was the only thing that happened, as the day turned to night, the wide landscape providing a stunning sunset.

Unfortunately, stumbling continuously towards nothing but his probable death meant that Nate didn’t really enjoy the spectacular colours strewn across the sky.

It wasn’t until the stars appeared, all of them, that he even stopped and looked up.

The night was flawless. Thousands of pinpricks of light were gathered in the deep blue of the sky, surrounded like a border with grey clouds, duller points of brightness shining through the translucent wisps.

Nate stared upwards, trying to draw lines between stars to make _any_ constellation.

Weren’t there supposed to be loads of them? He could find one, right?

Apparently not; he gave up within seconds and felt himself drifting even as he addressed the sky, “Where are you, Sully?”

He staggered onwards, almost tripping, staring up.

“Where are you?”

The twinkling lights offered no help as Nate began recalling what little he really knew about how to navigate by the stars. Using the Earth for direction and gathering supplies from Nature had never been a strong point, though.

Still. Didn’t mean he couldn’t regret it now.

The sky didn’t morph into a map from his gaze, and Nate lowered his head, getting dizzy from staring to the heavens.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered, the stars giving no direction in this desolate place. “Should’ve been in the Navy.”

 _Should be able to do the things Sully does,_ was the real meaning.

If he was in a state to make a mental list, he would have had many pages by the time he crawled into sunrise; Day two dawned.

And Nate was on his knees, slumped on the sand, ridges smoothed by his weight. The sun beat down the second it cleared dunes, as harsh as the day before.

He staggered to his feet, somehow. Stumbled forward, muttering.

“Don’t know… who I’m talking to. I’m exhausted.”

Something caught his eye, up ahead. Something, someone; someone waving – someone in a red shirt. He would know that figure anywhere!

“Sully.” Nate’s mouth was so dry he could barely speak above a whisper. “Thank god.”

But a few more staggering steps led him to slipping on the side of a hill, putting a hand down on the sticky sand to stop falling. By then, Sully had walked out of view, down the other side of his dune.

There was something else that caught Nate’s attention then, something odd.

“What the hell is that?”

He stumbled towards it, veering right from his original path. The thing turned out to be an… oasis? There were palm trees coming up from greenery in a small pond of clear water.

Whatever it was, through Nate’s sight it seemed blurry, shimmering against a background of endless sand.

And it disappeared as he got closer, fading to reveal the well – the same one he’d been at yesterday.

Marlowe’s voice floated through Nate’s mind, reciting a poem he barely knew. _The dry stone no sound of water…_

He stared at the stone rim of the old, dry, well and lifted his head to look around even as he despaired.

“Goddammit, I’ve been going in circles!” Only sand shone back at him from every direction. “Damn it, Nate.”

Hands on knees, heavily supporting himself, Nate leant more forward that light-headedness could probably handle, but at this point did it matter.

The unforgiving sand where he stood filled his sight as he muttered. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

-

This mantra moved to his mind as Nate attempted to walk on. It didn’t take too long until he found himself on his knees again, head hung low.

A large protruding rock stood out starkly against the pale sand from the sun.

Somehow, he staggered towards it, every step threatening to take him down. There was a shadow under the protruding top half, and he fell to hands and knees beside it.

From the sunlight, the rock glared red, but Nate barely noticed. He dragged his whole body into the blessed shadow and slowly pulled knees up to make a foetal position.

Relief from the unforgiving burning filled him at first.

But the sand under skin was sticky and irritant; the humidity and heat of the place creeping under his clothes.

He found himself thinking about the poem again as his palm, flat against sand, slowly curled into a fist. Sand trickled through the spaces between his knuckles.

_I will show you fear in a handful of dust._

-

It was cold. The desert was unforgiving with its elements, dealing whatever it could to take Nate down.

And it might just tonight.

There was barely a star in the sky, the blue that shone so clear before clouded over with darkening grey, wind whipping through the dunes.

Sand blew in his face, and Nate didn’t swipe at it, keeping his arms wrapped together, holding his shoulders.

Possibly the constant trembling would dislodge some sand. More likely he would die with grains imprinted on him, the sand claiming him as theirs.

Nate stumbled, uneven steps staggering on tiny sand ridges.

He was spent; everything hurt, everything ached. But especially his burning dry throat, scratching at air with every breath.

And especially the knowledge that he was going to die here, lost and alone, afraid and never more vulnerable.

Barely murmured comments was the only human sound to hear over the wind.

“Wanna lay down… Can’t lay down, just can’t lay down…”

Pace slowed and came to a stop. Nate felt like he almost tried to turn, to look at the sky one last time. Maybe the stars would tell Sully everything Nate never now would.

But he collapsed almost silently on the sand, limbs spread out in exhaustion, lying vulnerably on his back.

Maybe before his eyes closed, he got one last glimpse of the clouds.

There were only two things Nate knew before he passed out; in this state, waking again would be stunning in itself. And…

_I’m sorry, Sully._

His thoughts gave quick way to darkness. Eventually, whiteness gave way to a figure above him.

A hallucination maybe, but the sight of Sully rekindled what the second night’s fierce wind had blown out – why he was even trying.

So Nate kept trying, kept walking, kept going through the landscape of sand ashes, hardened by the merciless sun.

He knew he wouldn’t wake again if he fell.

And he knew he had to get to Sully.

No matter whether it was crawling or stumbling or tripping or limping on the ridged sand dunes, Nate kept going, ignoring blistered tongue and burnt arms.

After all, he’d made a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'He made a promise' references/is followed by a short fic I wrote a while ago about Nate in the desert, called 'Promises'  
> It'd be nice if you took a moment to check it out :)  
> Remember to leave a comment if you can!


	5. Cliff Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't long to think this time, but if anything Nate knows that, in some way, this is better. This way, there's no time to let what Sam revealed to sink in.  
> This way, there's no need to despair about if there would have been a happy-ever-after.

“Well, this is interesting,” Rafe said calmly, pointing his gun somewhere inbetween the two brothers.

Personally, Nate felt he couldn’t agree with the interest.

“Nate. Samuel.”

Sam tensed further at the greeting, tightening his finger on the trigger and pressing the gun almost painfully against Nadine’s head. The two Shoreline soldiers hesitantly shifted their focus to Rafe for directions.

So when he refused to listen to Sam’s threat, they didn’t lower their weapons either – even when Nadine gritted out how on-edge the man was, and even as Rafe invited him to pull the trigger.

“Not another step!” Sam shouted as Rafe moved to walk towards them.

He grinned uncaringly. “You mean…” he said, slowly moving his other leg forward, “like this?”

“Sam… put the gun down.”

Nate knew what bluffing was; used it all the time, and knew every second that he would never really pull that trigger.

But there was a look in Sam’s eyes, the way his stance was, that set off every alarm for his little brother. He really was going to do this. It was no empty threat.

Several things happened at once.

As Rafe shouted angrily – “Do it!” – Nate jolted forward and grabbed the gun in Sam’s hand the same second it went off, and the bullet fired harmlessly over the side of where they were standing.

When the gunshot went off, Nadine took the distraction to slam Sam in the stomach with a lot of force behind her elbow, making him let go of her and double over.

She glared as Nate put the gun down when asked and she stepped forward to pick it up, switching her searing anger onto Rafe.

“It’s just not their _style_ ,” she spat mockingly at him. The soldiers lowered their guns respectfully as Nadine strode past Rafe’s careless apology and all attention was on the two brothers.

Rafe walked forward, gesturing almost delightedly at Nate before stopping in front of Sam.

“Guess you knew this moment was coming.”

That was the only warning before he punched the man across the face with his gun, and ignoring Nate’s protest, then followed up with a stamp to the nose.

Nate helped his big brother up while proposing a ‘business deal’. But nothing could have prepared him for what was coming.

“Whoa,” Rafe interrupted, succumbing to confusion the moment a name was mentioned. “What the hell are you talking about, Nate?”

He barely had time to frown before Rafe continued.

“Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina like, six months ago.”

The meaning set in, Nate’s mind racing. Six months…? So how; what…?

“I’m the one that got Samuel out.”

Nate hadn’t moved despite his brain screaming with the new information. Now though, as Rafe paused to watch the effect of uncovering, he turned his head to look at Sam.

“What-?” Sam refused to meet his eyes so Nate looked back to Rafe, confused vulnerability written all over his face.

The man looked positively delighted. “Ohhhh,” He turned to share the realisation with Nadine and her soldiers (who didn’t care) before looking back towards the boys.

“Wow,” he said to Sam, ignoring the glare, before addressing Nate with an air of knowing about disaster about to happen. “What did he tell you?”

Nate felt himself shake his head almost unnoticeably.

Rafe continued in smugness, “Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really?” Sam finally lowered his hand and levelled a burning look at Rafe. “You lied? You lied to your baby brother?”

He looked away as Nadine called over, “We’re wasting time!”

“Just a second!”

With a mock-disappointed sigh, Rafe addressed the younger Drake again. “Thing is, Nate, I never stopped looking for Avery’s treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends.”

The man laughed as if this was all a joke. He explained that he’d heard somewhere about Sam being alive, and so had gone to the Panamanian Prison from all those years ago and picked him up.

But it was the knowledge that Sam had been working with Rafe for the last two years, to find the information he’d shared upon going back to Nathan, that struck the younger Drake the hardest.

“No,” he said immediately, denial instantly kicking it as it too often did.

“Oh, yeah.”

“No, that’s bullshit.”

Rafe just waved a hand at whose secrets he was divulging in what from his point of view was probably a beneficial interaction.

“Oh, Sam? Care to refute?”

Nate didn’t quite believe it, darting his gaze from Sam to Rafe almost frantically as to not believe the truth.

Then Sam said one word that made him realise it was all true.

“Nate.”

After everything they’d done, together and apart... ‘Nate’ was the name he’d taken for himself, short and easy, simple and sure. But to Sam, to his older brother, he was always ‘Nathan’; he would always be the younger, the surprising boy who Sam spent years trying to protect.

It was barely a handful of times that Sam had called him ‘Nate’. And every time was followed by a groundbreaking realisation.

This one was no different.

Nate couldn’t hide the shock and betrayal in his expression even if he’d tried; it was clear as day.

“Aw, Sam… Jesus, no, no…”

His words had no effect on the reality, and Sam spared another glare at Rafe before stepping towards Nate as he began backing away.

“Listen, Avery’s treasure was ours, it was always ours-“

 _It’s not that that hurts._ The second Sam tried to reach out to him, Nate reacted aggressively, pushing him back and shouting.

“No! I left my life for you!”

He wanted to say more, to make Sam understand the crushing betrayal and anger in him; to find a way to show every single fuck-up he’d made since they’d started this venture.

But he didn’t need to, because Sam had been there in the background. And hadn’t said a word.

“I –“ Nate barely began, raising a hand, but no words could describe any of the overwhelming emotions crammed in his mind.

So he just dropped his arm and shook his head, turning away in unspeakable sadness as Rafe just laughed, clapping a couple of times against his gun with sheer delight.

The man breathed in and turned semi-serious, addressing Nate again.

“Hey look, look, Nate, if it’s any consolation, he duped me too.” Nate turned slightly to see Rafe gesturing. “He pulled a Houdini on me – he brought you… and that old man back into the mix, and I cannot lie, Sam, that really…”

He’d walked to a stop in front of said Drake and gestured at him with the gun, voice turning dark for a moment, “…pissed me off.”

Sam just looked down with an unnoticeable shake of his head. Rafe turned as if to address Nadine for a second.

“But you know…” He looked at Nate with a smile and a shrug. “All behind us now.”

Nate said nothing as he watched Sam take a small step into Rafe’s line of sight, staring him down with radiating anger. “You don’t deserve it.”

Rafe blinked. Behind him, Nadine began walking forward.

“You do?” He glanced from Nate back to Sam. “Last I checked we’re all a bunch of thieves, digging around where we shouldn’t.”

Nadine came to a stop near him. “Rafe.”

“What?”

“One way or another, end it. Or I will.” Another statement that was no empty threat.

She watched with hard eyes as Rafe nodded sagely in understanding and briefly lifted a hand to indicate she needn’t do anything. As he moved slightly to again face the brothers, Nadine turned her back and walked away, gun still in hand.

“Well, you heard the lady,” Rafe said calmly, and raised his gun steadily at Sam’s head.

Nate immediately stepped closer to his brother, saying loudly, “Hey, you miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye.”

There was a second of silence. Sam didn’t look away from the gun. Nate met Rafe’s eyes. His own gave nothing away about how this lined up with what had just been revealed.

Because it didn’t; this was pure deep-rooted instinct.

“You said it yourself, you keep running into dead ends. Why don’t you face it, Rafe, you _need_ us.”

Sam’s eyes finally flicked away from the gun, wondering if that was enough. Rafe didn’t move for a minute, then tensed.

And lowered the gun. “Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded, almost smiling, before the expression dropped into something more dangerous. “You’re half right.” The gun was levelled straight at Nate as Rafe clarified, “I just need Sam.”

Both brothers had a hand towards him in a typical calming gesture but the situation was anything but calm.

Nate stood his ground, desperate to reason. “Wait now, you’re making a mistake, you got-“

Rafe tightened his finger as Sam backed up, moving in front of his little brother even as he pleaded fruitlessly with the man.

“Rafe, don’t! Rafe, don’t, don’t, listen-“

The gun went off and Sam practically jumped the last step into the line of fire, in front of Nate; the bullet shot out and Sam grabbed at his shoulder in instant pain.

It knocked him back barely an inch but it was enough to hit Nate off-balance, and he hadn’t even realised how close he was to the edge.

Too close.

He stumbled, nothing to grab, no purchase on the edge of the rock – and in the heart-stopping second he knew he was going to fall and die.

Better than being shot? Not really.

As if in slow motion, Nate felt himself tilt backwards, begin to fall; he saw in a blur Sam turn, eyes wide with fear as he yelled for his little brother.

There wasn’t much time to think after that. His scream cut off as his head smashed on the very edge of a rock more than half way down.

Everything went black before he slammed into the river like a punch to the water’s surface.

But Nate knew that either way, he was done for.

* * *

 

Some time later, awareness slowly returned.

Not a lot, but enough to distinguish wet and cold beneath him; humid and sweat on his face. And then he realised he must be alive.

Somehow.

All Nate remembered was falling and darkness as his head split open on a rock’s edge on the way down to the river.

He couldn’t even remember the river; he must’ve been unconscious when he hit it.

Which, again, asked the question – how? It was a very valid point, no matter his usual luck; the head injury would have been severe enough, surely, at that speed.

And without being conscious in the river, it should have easily drowned him in seconds. Was it a fast-flowing river? Did it toss him about enough to keep him alive?

So had he washed up somewhere nearby? Nothing more than pure luck could have ensured he lay in shallow enough shores that kept his face clear to breathe (something that somehow hadn’t stopped, despite everything).

More questions presented themselves, but Nate realised that if he could think, and he was alive, then he should be able to move.

Easier said than done.

Everything hurt and ached and worst of all, his head was fuzzy and painful and throbbing where he assumed he’d hit the rock, making thinking clearly very difficult.

Then he heard a quiet voice startlingly close that he couldn’t quite make out.

But if someone was here with him, then he really ought to make a move, Nate considered fairly, still struggling to come round.

His eyelids fluttered as he tried to open them and even that hurt; he couldn’t help letting out a small groan.

The voice stopped, hushed, and suddenly there were hands on him, fingers briefly pressed at his throat and checking his pulse, before the hand moved up, gently patting his cheek.

“Nate?” Whoever it was that was looking after him cared a whole lot, he thought muzzily, still barely conscious. “Hey, can you hear me? Open your eyes.”

Familiarity tugged at him and his chest faintly ached with something thought lost, but it took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body’s reactions to whatever it was that both hurt and was beautiful.

“Come on. Nate? Please wake up. Come on.”

It was growing desperate and worried and scared thought it remained quiet, and Nate was more compelled than ever to listen.

He twitched his fingers experimentally, noting that there was one hand on his chest as well as the one at his cheek, and found conscious action slowly coming back.

Frowning in pain, he again tried to open his eyes, this time managing to squint upwards. Nate hissed a little as burning light shone from behind the shadow above him, but tried to focus.

“Hey, you,” the figure said gently, a thumb stroking his cheek. “You with me yet?”

He tried to nod in automatic response – more to the deep concern in the voice – but everything still hurt, especially his head, and Nate ended up groaning instead.

The voice turned into a small chuckle, still laced with worry.

That, along with growing awareness, made it finally click that he really _was_ alive, and that Sam had _lied_ and most of all, they weren’t done here.

Nate took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, properly, focusing on the scared, worried, face above him.

He felt a feeling of hope dawn on him as the figure gave a tense smile.

Maybe not everything was lost, Nate began to realise, despite the ground breaking revelations recently uncovered.

Because looking down at him was someone more than a blessing.

A line from all those years ago floated in mind as husband and wife looked at each other in different unexplainable emotions.

Nate blinked as she studied him. “…Elena?”

_For better or worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a while, and as before I played/watched as I wrote.  
> Also this can count as one of the ideas I got ages ago - to write 'something with Nadine'! This has Nadine! I swear, I love her so much that I srsly don't want to write her wrong and screw up bc she's amazing.  
> So this way, I've written her in a canon scene so it's good plus this scene is like practically my fave. Do not question me.  
> Last chapter should be up within a few days!  
> Please leave a comment about if you've enjoyed this story, it's been quite the dedication for me! Thank you :)


	6. Third Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassie was asleep in his arms finally but Nate himself didn’t want to close his eyes - for fear of missing one second of his daughter’s precious young life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is rather smaller, but it is purposely short and sweet.  
> I got it done tonight as I am off tomorrow for a couple of days away, and I thought it best to complete this now.  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this story :)

Nate was just drifting off when it happened – a cry from the other room was followed by screaming and sobbing.

He groaned and shifted as Elena sat up with a sigh next to him.

“Prob’ly wants feeding,” she said around a huge yawn, and Nate grunted in agreement and squinted at the clock on the nightstand. It read 3.40am.

Elena muttered under her breath as the wailing increased in volume and she made to flip the covers off.

“Hey,” Nate said quietly, putting a hand on her wrist, “I’ll do it.”

She sniffed and gave him a grateful look, already moving to lie back down. Nate slowly got out of their bed as Elena gathered the covers again and snuggled in.

Glancing up at him as he padded his way to the room’s doorway, she added absently, “It’s in the top shelf, ‘kay?”

Nate chuckled and diverted to give his wife a quick kiss on the forehead before heading out.

He crossed the hall to their daughter’s room – what was before their study redecorated into a baby’s first place – and pushed the half-open door, stepping inside towards where the crying was coming from; the cot.

Cassie Drake lay in her crib kicking and screaming, already having dislodged the blanket from her legs. Her tiny fists were curled and being waved around as she cried loudly.

“Hey, Cass,” Nate said quietly with a smile, and reached down to gently take her into his arms, cradling her the way Elena had showed before.

She continued to cry, though at a slightly lower volume, in his arms but no longer fought the air with her limbs as Nate carried her out of the room, heading downstairs in the meagre light from the bulb in the hallway.

He started to hum to calm her as they reached the bottom of the stairs and Nate walked through the hallway to the kitchen, Cassie quieting in his arms finally.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Nate murmured prematurely; he opened the fridge, shifting Cassie easily onto one arm, and picked up her ready-made baby bottle of milk. Yawning, he elbowed the fridge door shut and crossed the room in his socks over to the microwave.

Setting the device for 30 seconds, he put the bottle of milk in and carefully closed the door, prompting it to begin heating.

While waiting, Nate glanced at Cassie’s face, who was staring at him with her huge eyes. He smiled back and she blinked a few times in clear tiredness – which was how Nate felt too.

He was interrupted by another yawn as the microwave signalled it had finished heating; Cassie tried to look around in surprise at the sound.

Nate smiled tiredly at her usual curiosity and opened the microwave door again to get the warm milk out.

With a bit of fidgeting, he managed to shake the bottle pointed downwards, sprinkling a couple of drops on his forearm. The lukewarm milk felt just right, as it should, and Nate carefully flipped the bottle back around so he could offer the soft suckle to Cassie.

She took it immediately, toothless gums pressed hard around the nozzle as she began to suck in earnest, eyes already closing in contentment after the first few mouthfuls.

He sighed in satisfaction at the content silence and wandered to the couch, gently settling them on it so not to jostle Cassie’s drinking. Nate leaned back against a pillow and just watched her.

The child in his arms wasn’t more than six months old, but already she held so much of her parents.

Her eyes were often full of wonder of the world, and while at that age it was to be expected, she seemed to be more fascinated than others, always needing to know everything.

She’s stolen their hearts the second her eyes had met her parents’; and hooked Sam and Sully in a similar way.

Maybe their family wasn’t the most convential, but the moment the four of them looked together at the previous new life, they all knew they were bound by soul to care for Cassie.

Nate stared at his daughter as she slowed down suckling at the milk, her eyes closed and a soft sigh escaped her when he carefully eased the bottle out of her mouth.

She curled a tiny hand around one of Nate’s fingers and turned her head more toward his chest, snuggling down hopefully until morning now.

Despite being woken barely a few hours after falling asleep, Nate found he wasn’t exactly tired any more.

Rather, he was enthralled by Cassie sleeping in his arms, not wanting to drift off himself for fear of missing any single murmur from the precious girl.

Bottle placed on the floor, Nate settled more into his corner of the sofa, careful again not to disturb his baby. He sighed quietly in complete contentment as if there wasn’t anywhere else in the entire world he’d rather be.

And that was how Elena found them when she woke early that morning.

Cassie was sleeping in her husband’s arms, practically a small smile on her face. Nate was leaning his head on the top of the sofa, but not asleep.

He was watching their daughter with such a steady and true gaze no one could doubt the love there.

Elena walked quietly into the room, smiling, and Nate slowly lifted his head to glance at her.

She reached out to stroke his hair briefly and he silently smiled in reply, before looking back down at the sleeping child in his arms.

It was amazing how things turn out sometimes.

And from now on, Nate had promised he would not miss a single second of their daughter’s beautiful life.

He owed his loyal family that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that read this story; it was actually quite the dedication for me, since I'm much a short-term writer. I often find it difficult to write many chapters or otherwise continually work on one thing.  
> But this was properly planned before I even started, to ensure that I knew what I was doing, though I still took a little while to write a few of the chapters!  
> So it turned out quite good, and I am in the end rather pleased that the idea worked and it was good and I got to finishing it in fairly good time.


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